


12 Days Of Christmas

by emiliaf25 (emiliaf24)



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: All of them are dumb babies that can kill you, Android shenanigans, Cinnamon Roll Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Comedy, Connor & CyberLife Tower Connor | RK800-60 & Upgraded Connor | RK900 are Siblings, Connor Deserves Happiness, Connor Tries His Best, Connor discovering the true meaning of Christmas in stupid ways the fic, Exasperated Hank, Hank Anderson Needs a Hug, He has never been more DONE than in this fic, Hurt/Comfort, Kamski's body, Multi, Parental Hank Anderson, Post-Peaceful Android Revolution (Detroit: Become Human), Protective Upgraded Connor | RK900, References to Depression, Silly, but they mean well, christmas 2019, holiday fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-11
Updated: 2020-04-12
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:55:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 14,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23602681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emiliaf24/pseuds/emiliaf25
Summary: It’s the holiday season. Two years have gone by since the Android Revolution, and Connor feels relatively comfortable in proclaiming that he has become a regular ordinary well adjusted member of society, with normal ideas and hobbies. However, Connor is not so arrogant as to believe that two years is enough time to know EVERYTHING there is tonotbeing a lab designed apex predator. And also the true meaning of Christmas.So Connor does what Connor does best: he gathers data. A sample size of twelve should be sufficient…Twelve what?TwelveWHATConnor??
Comments: 39
Kudos: 127





	1. First Day Of Christmas

**Author's Note:**

> Ho ho ho Merry April! XD
> 
> So guess what I just learned how to do which I thought previously impossible with my puny grasp of all things tech?
> 
> Gifs! You can add them! On here! In the text! I saw it on some other fics! :D
> 
> Yes yes I know I'm dumb but more importantly I'm dumb and excited! This changes the game friends. I am now no longer limited to just posting on tumblr if I want to insert a visual moving gags. Hence the posting of this belated/early holiday fic now instead of, oh say, during December where it belongs heh heh.
> 
> Ah well. It's very silly, and I think we could all do with a little silly during this time, so I hope even though it's not Christmas, you guys still get some chuckles out of it.

##  **On the first day of Christmas my android son gave to me…**

“Alright Hank, hear me out - ”

“Literally every time you say that it’s always something I _don’t_ want to hear out.”

“Valid but I’m ignoring you - ”

“ _Who taught you to be this way_?”

“I love Sumo as much as the next sentient life form with any common sense, but I think we can all agree that…oh wait,” he bent over next to Sumo and covered his foofy ears. “He’s not a very good guard dog,” Connor whispered.

“ _Nooo_ ,” Hank drawled, “he only let a random android break into my house and beat the shit out of me with nary a fuckin’ bark.”

“I acknowledge your sarcasm and agree with you ten fold. Sumo really dropped the watermelon on that one.”

“It’s ‘ _dropped the ball_ ’ Connor, I know we’ve been over this I can’t even tell if you’re messing with me anymore.”

“Why would Sumo _drop_ the ball!? He’s a dog!” Connor exploded, as if he had been holding on to that confounding idiom for a while. Hank’s eyebrows lifted as he raised his hands in surrender, trying desperately to hold in his snickers. He might have been failing, since that glare being aimed at him was pretty fearsome. Goddamn the boy got passionate about the most random shit. “Stop derailing the conversation!”

“I _am_ not - ”

“In light of that, and in light of the approaching holiday season, might I suggest this new alarm system as a gift to you.”

“Con ahhh…that’s nice and all but it’s a little early for…welp ok then. That’s a thing I’m seeing right now.”

A tiger cub popped its adorable fuzzy head from behind the couch pillow on the other side of Connor. 

Hank’s mutter of “I actually live in a cartoon” went ignored as Connor jazz hand-ed at the tiger, a thousand watt smile on his face. The tiger climbed clumsily over it, a mountain in comparison to its tiny form, and walked onto Connor’s lap. From here Hank could make out the LED on the small jungle cat’s temple - an ani-droid then. That was only a mild relief. The LED span a lazy yellow as it purred and turned a circle - Connor petting the mini predator as if it were any old house cat - before settling in a sitting position. Suddenly, not one but two pairs of big brown eyes stared up at Hank imploringly.

Hank stood his ground though. He was grown ass _man_. He paid his bills, he sewed his buttons by his own damn self. He would not be swayed by this witchcraft. He quirked a brow. “Alarm system?” 

“Yes!” Connor crowed, no amount of dogged grump keeping his excitement down. He gave the tiger a little scritch between its ears. “Observe. Kellogg, speak.”

“ _Quack_ ,” said the tiger.

…..

 _A_. CAR. T O O N.

“Now I know what you’re thinking - ”

“No the hell you _do not_.”

“‘ _Connor, that is extremely cute and an exemplary effort but not very intimidating at all_ ’ your human brain is telling you. To which I will reply: intimidation is not his purpose. Kellogg here is merely alerting us of an intruders’ presence, and, as you heard, his alarm is unobtrusive, yet at a perfect decibel level for our purposes.”

“ _Wow_ , that’s _really_ interesting Connor. And yet, for some weird reason, the only thing I can see in front of me right now is something that looks a whole lot like some evidence that went missing for an exotic pet raid Chris and Tina cracked down on the other day.”

Connor blinked at him languidly. “Yea that’s super weird Hank.”

“Yah. It was in the report log. A baby, android tiger. That quacks. Must be a coincidence.”

“Quack quack,” said Kellogg, helpfully. Or angrily. It was hard to narrow down tone inflection when your tiger was quacking.

“The unlikelihood of these two separate incidents are astounding. I am chilled by this happenstance. Chilled.”

Connor and Hank stared at each other. The tiger cub started gnawing playfully at Connor’s finger, but the humanoid android didn’t flinch, didn’t waver. Instead, he slowly lifted Kellogg from under his armpits until he was at Connor’s cheek level, so now Hank had the full force of their pitiful gaze.

Nope. He was not falling for that cutesy shit no fucking way. Nope nope nope -

Still maintaining eye contact, Connor slowly lowered his head, taking the tiger with him, until his other cheek was next to Sumo. An unholy trifecta had manifested itself. 

N-

No. No! Hank couldn’t just disappoint all three of them like that -

Hank broke eye contact and scoffed. “You little shit,” he muttered. “Its only staying here until you find it a new home. And the second - the fucking _second_ \- there’s a whisper of needing Donald motherfucking duck over here for processing it better magically appear back in the evidence room, capiche?”

Connor sat back up abruptly, placing Kellogg in his lap again. He pouted, and Hank had to make a considerable effort to hold back more snickers. He had to stay firm. Connor was like a shark sniffing out blood; when it came to something he truly wanted (usually pet or Sumo related), if there was an opening he would tear it asunder. “I take it that means you don’t want Kellogg for a Christmas gift?”

“Thanks, but I’m good on pets.” Hank gestured at Connor and Sumo. “You two are enough of a handful as it is.”

Connor sighed sadly. “I understand.” He stood up, tucking Kellogg into the crook of his arm. “Come on Kellogg, let’s go consult the list for other ideas.”

“List?” 

Connor said nothing to Hank’s query. He merely walked backwards, slowly, maintaining eye contact while he pet Kellogg’s head, and melted into the shadows of the hallway. Like a fuckin’ super villain. “You’ll know soon enough,” an airy, disembodied voice floated from the darkness.

“ _Quack_ ~”

Hank shrugged to himself and went back to watching T.V. Just another day in this black hole of nonsense.

A niggling sense of dread continued to prod at the back of his mind though, no matter how many sports channels he flipped through. He stopped on the Hallmark channel, and the sense of dread grew.

Why did he have a feeling that the coming days were going to be ridiculous?

* * *

##  _🎵…a quacking tiger stolen from the evidence locker🎵_


	2. Second Day Of Christmas

##  **On the second day of Christmas my android son gave to me…**

It was cold outside that afternoon. The streets and sidewalks were slick with frost, and the air was so crisp that every breath you took was a cloud from a smokestack. Soon the snow would come in proper, and mobile food vendors would be packing up shop and migrating towards warmer shopping districts and plazas.

But not the Chicken Feed. Through rain and sunshine, sleet and snow, this trusty roach-coach was always open.

And so too, through hail and lightning and all manner of discomfort, was the Feed’s loyal patron always there to be served. Lieutenant Hank Anderson: ever faithful customer, keeping small businesses alive, one double double hot wing fried jalapeno burger at a time.

And ever faithful to the Lieutenant, was Detective Connor, who - while not overly interested in Fast Food - was happy to spend his lunch break with his father figure.

He would also never say no to a large paper cup filled with ketchup, and not because he found it vastly amusing that passing humans thought he was drinking mouthfuls of blood.

“So I’ve been thinking,” Connor started, after a noisy slurp from his straw. He and Hank were at their usual standing table - Connor leaning against it casually, while Hank was hunched over his burger trying to conserve as much heat as possible.

“Are you ever _not_ thinking?”

“No. My mind is a continuous stream of consciousness consisting of constant second guessing and anxiety with little reprieve.”

“….shit, kid. That sounds terrible.”

Connor took another hardy sip of his ketchup. “It is. So I’ve been thinking about what else to get you for Christmas - ”

“ _Ah Jesus_ \- Connor. You remember Christmas gifts are supposed to be a surprise right? That’s like, standard knowledge.”

“Right, but… you also told me to run any of my ideas by you if I felt there was over a 35% chance of mass mayhem and chaos would ensue if I acted upon them.”

“…Fair,” Hank said after a pause. They didn’t want another incident like the one at that Denny’s on the corner of 4th Street to happen, which had involved the nightmarish cocktail of hair-extensions, a snow cone machine, and fire. There was a reason they put a stop to Free Pancake Friday, and that reason’s name was Connor’s Good Intentions. “Proceed, Pikachu.”

“And after careful consideration of our familial relationship and some wise consultation,” Connor easily picked up his train of thought again.

“Uh huh?” Hank took a sip from his large pineapple-strawberry soda.

“I have decided that I will kill two people of your choosing from a compiled list of your enemies.”

Hank spat out his drink in spray of sugary, high fructose mist.

Connor patted his back, brow furrowed in concern at his violent hacking. “Was that a good reaction or a bad reaction?”

“Bad - **ACKH** \- _BAD_. _REACTION_.”

“Oh. Was it because I was being stingy with the hits? Nines did suggest five -”

“ _Stop talking about hits!_ ”

Connor dutifully quieted. Hank took several heaving breaths, gathering his thoughts before addressing the patiently awaiting android. The kid even had his hands folded on the table like a good little student. A student who’s gentle query just so happened to be _is murder bad_.

“First off, I want to make this abundantly clear; no, I do not want any freebie kills.”

“Aww,” Connor pouted, “But I made these special coupons for you.” He opened the left side of his suit jacket and whipped out two, festively decorated, holographic cards:

“ _Secondly_ ,” Hank forged forward sternly without acknowledging the vouchers, because _yes_ they were well crafted and _no_ there would be no encouragement on this matter. None! “I don’t even have any enemies, let alone a list of them for you to run around and go all Assassin’s Creed on their asses!”

Connor frowned. “I wholly disagree.” He then opened the right side of his suit jacket, and whipped out…a fucking scroll. An honest to God, parchment paper, medieval times lookin’ scroll, that he unfurled with undue aplomb and laid across the table. It was concernedly long.

Hank perused the names written in neat CyberLife sans (at least the kid hadn’t gone full pomp and used some super curly unreadable calligraphy), grumbling and harrumphing like the old man dealing with some ol’ bullshit that he was. Most of them were perps that escaped the many Red Ice rings Hank had shut down and…alright fine, yea. He _technically_ had a couple of enemies - he was a cop, it was kinda an occupational hazard - but he’d never thought to categorize them that way.

The rest of the names however…

“Who the fuck is Philip Carter?”

“He was a classmate of yours in St. Mary’s Elementary School.”

“Wha -! He didn’t do anything to me!”

“He cheated you out of first prize in the school’s annual Science Fair - I would not call that ‘not anything.’”

“ _I WOULD_!”

“But Hank, you worked so hard on that volcano. And he just… _bought_ his on Ebay! Clearly there is no redeeming such a soulless, calculating monster.”

“Don’t. Kill. Philip. Don’t kill anyone on this list yuh fuckin’ - oh my god. You actually put Maria on here?” He rolled his eyes. Just saying his ex wife’s name aloud left a bitter taste on his tongue, even after all these years. “Well, that one makes sense at least.”

Eyes alight with triumph, Connor whipped out a walkie talkie from his back pocket (also at what point did his suit become a Mary Poppins bag??). It was shaped like McGruff the Crime Dog. He looked Hank dead in the eye, planting his elbows on the table. A crackling sound emitted from McGruff’s gaping maw. “ _I’m in position, over,_ ” came Nines’ voice.

Connor’s finger hovered over the talk button. “Say the word and it’s done.”

Instead of answering immediately, Hank took another big bite of his burger. He was not contemplating on whether or not he should have his ex (scum bag though she was) cut down in the midst of whoever she was screwing over at the moment. He was contemplating on how his life would never be as strange as it was now. Nothing could _hope_ to top or match the pure chaotic energy that the three androids (whom Hank had voluntarily adopted) brought into his home on a daily basis. _Nothing_.

“Thanks but no thanks, son,” Hank said simply.

Connor hesitated, as if he were making sure this is what Hank truly wanted, before setting the walkie talkie on the table. “Well, it wouldn’t be a very good Christmas gift to you if it was something you did not desire.”

“‘Not very in line with the Holiday Spirit, no.”

“And just to confirm; it is still a hard no on keeping Kellogg?”

“Hard as titanium.”

Hank didn’t know if it was the despondent look and slumped shoulders, or some other kind of voodoo RK800 curse, but he was actually starting to feel bad that Connor’s Free Kill Deal didn’t pan out. Which was the stupidest thought Hank had while sober this entire year. “Ya know, you don’t _have_ to give me a gift this year. It’s not a Christmas cardinal rule.”

Connor’s head snapped up. _Preposterous_ , his eyes hissed, glaring at him as if Hank had just spat on a baby.

….this was getting out of hand. Insisting that it was too early to worry about gifts was obviously not working. If Hank wanted to avoid anymore murder related projects, then he was going to have to…ugh, give some suggestions. “Look, just…keep it simple, alright? I’m good with like, a card, or a paperweight.” He waved his burger in a circle, as if that would explain the intangibility that was the Christmas Spirit. “Ya know, it’s the thought that counts and all that crap.”

“Hmmm. Simple.” Connor muttered thoughtfully.

_h M m M s I m P l E_. Hank narrowed his eyes at Connor suspiciously. Yea right like that boy wasn’t still on some other bullshit.

They were starting to creep past the two hour mark for their Lunch - for once not because Hank was being a bum - so he stuffed the remainder of his burger in his mouth and drank what was left of his soda. “C’mon, let’s start heading back - Jeff’s probably already got the Wednesday You Went Over On Your Break angry speech ready for me.

“And don’t mention anything about being a discount assassin at the office. We don’t need to be givin’ Reed any ideas.”

As Hank headed for his car parked across the street, McGruff the crime walkie talkie came back to life.

“ _Connor, what is the situation? Are we a go? Over._ ”

“No, Nines. Please cancel Operation: Red Dad Redemption until further notice,” Connor said, sighing sadly.

“ _…I take it Hank was not receptive to your gift?_ ”

“No. He was very much against it.”

“ _I see. That is too bad. I was looking forward to our first Christmas collaborative gift giving._ ”

“I know. I appreciate all the help you provided Nines.”

“ _It was no trouble. But perhaps we do not have to scrap the whole thing. Someone else might be more amenable to our gift?_ ”

“Hmmm,” Connor stroked his chin in thought, already warming up to the idea. “You may be onto something Nines. It would be unwise to put all of our hard work to waste.”

Connor did have a long list of people on his Christmas list (and wasn’t that a lovely thought?) this year. Markus, for instance, might be pleased with a gift of this nature. There was that Senator in Georgia who was being rather uncooperative regarding android laws…..

* * *

##  _🎵…two free coupons for the death of my worst enemies*🎵_

*for a limited time only! Get them while supplies last!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For more updates, fic shorts, headcanons, asks, and other nonsense check out my tumblr at: https://emiliaf25.tumblr.com/


	3. Third Day Of Christmas

##  **On the third day of Christmas my android son gave to me…**

Hank walked into his home late that evening, a cold breeze licking at his heels and neck before he shut the door behind him. He gave his big lug of a dog some welcoming pets and made a beeline for the couch, hoping for a nice, stress free night of watching sports stats and Reality TV trash.

“ _Haaaaank_! Could you come in here for a moment, please?”

His hope, as with many things in his life, was in vain.

Connor’s voice had been coming from Hank’s room, which was alarming but not surprising, because Connor. He looked to Sumo, who was now sitting up with his ears perked at all the ruckus, for help. The St. Bernard merely whinged, head swiveling from Hank to the hallway while his front paws marched in place.

 _Should’ve known better_ , Hank thought with an exaggerated eye roll. He had only raised the lazy mutt since he was a puppy, fed him every day, gave him a roof over his head and all the doggy accessories money could by. Who was Hank to compete with Sumo’s favorite person? Fuck, his own dirty socks got more love than he did sometimes.

“Alright alright, boy,” Hank soothed the dog, giving him some good rubs under his chin as he got up from the couch. “Let’s go see what insurance policy I need to take out this time.”

When dog and Lieutenant reached the bedroom it was to the sight of Connor standing next to three objects - at about his height - each completely obscured by three sheets. Okay. Right off the jump nothing seemed too out of place. The room was as it was this morning when Hank left it, nothing under the sheets were moving (yet), and Connor looked pretty normal (overly cheerful, yes. But that had been becoming the new normal for him since the start of December), down to his dark grey suit and pastel yellow tie.

“ _Now_ what am I looking at?” Hank asked, immediately feeling a little guilty when Connor bounced on his heels in further excitement. Three years was hardly enough time to become disillusioned with Christmas (and with any luck it would never happen at all), there was no need to yuck the guy’s yum. So Hank crossed his arms, and tried to look more attentive.

“What you are currently looking at, Hank, are the results of your feedback the other day, which I took into careful consideration before I decided to show you these prototypes. After crunching the numbers, and consulting with Collin on his expertise in human trends, these gift ideas now have 99.5% less killing involved.” 

It was _oh so_ tempting to comment on that .5% but…fuck it. 99% was a fucking A+ in Hank’s book and if he was being honest he would’ve settled for a C+ too. Hank was not the type of parent that demanded perfection from his kid. “Well, let’s see ‘em then.”

With a pleased grin and a dramatic flourish, Connor yanked off the first sheet, revealing a mannequin sporting an 80’s style primary colored, confetti patterned button up long sleeve shirt, and a pair of dark blue slacks.

“Some formal wear for work or other professional events,” Connor presented.

One, bushy grey eyebrow shot up in interest. Hank waved his hand for Connor to proceed with this impromptu fashion show.

Connor nodded gravely, LED a bright blue at the non-negative response, and took the sheet off the second mannequin. This one had on a black button up shirt with rainbow flames climbing up from the bottom hem and sleeves. He took the mannequin by the elbow and turned it around, so that the words GOD NERFED MY ASS BECAUSE IT WAS TOO THICC in large glittery font could be more easily seen on the back of the black shorts.

“For more casual occasions, but still conveying the message that thought and care went into your appearance.”

Both eyebrows went up this time. “Hm,” Hank grunted.

Connor grinned, as if he had been bequeathed the highest praise, and moved to the last figure. When he pulled down the sheet off of this one, it was not a mannequin underneath, but Collin. 

“‘Sup Lieutenant!” Collin boomed, hands planted on his hips.

Hank reeled back, startled, Sumo whinging beside him. “Uhh…hey, kid. Ah, how long you been under there?”

“Two hours.”

“Six hours.”

Connor turned to Collin with a disturbed look on his face, while his LED blipped red. “ _What_? Why were you under there for six hours?”

“So what do you think Hank?” Collin gestured to his purple polo shirt and cargo shorts, completely ignoring Connor’s rightfully concerned question.

“Meh, not bad,” Hank responded instead of prodding further. You didn’t get to this age without any cardiac problems without learning when to ask questions and when to pretend the insanity wasn’t happening. One day Connor would learn that subtle art too. “Straying a bit from the theme ya’ll got going on here. Is there something on the back?”

Collin’s grin, in that moment, was particularly manic. “Better than that bitch!” His LED circled yellow, and the lights went out. It was pitch black, except for the glow from Connor and Collin’s LED.

That, and the words CHICKEN WING, a bright and eerie beacon printed on the center of Collin’s chest.

“ _WITNESS ME!_ ”

Collin twisted his torso from side to side, so that he was indeed properly witnessed. He let himself be ogled for a few moments more, and then turned the lights back on, an ear splitting expatant smile on his face.

“ _Weeeeeeeeeeellllllllllllll_?” He leaned forward a little. Connor did as well, now holding a Lisa Frank Unicorn notebook that had not been in his hands before, a matching pen hovering above the page as he awaited Hank’s verdict.

Hank scratched his beard, looking over each outfit with slow appraisal. The longer he took, the more the twin RK800s began to fidget. Just as it seemed that their LEDs were going to explode off their heads from the suspense of it all, Hank nodded his head definitively. “Yea, I’d wear ‘em.”

Connor beamed, while Collin crowed “FUCK YES!” and pumped his fist in triumph.

“Excuse me a moment,” Collin said, already rushing past them out the room. “I need to call Nines and tell him how trash he is at Christmas.”

Connor was dutifully scribbling in the notebook. “Thank you Hank. I now have a much better picture formulated on what to get you for Christmas. And for the sake of record, it is still a resounding no to the free contract killings?”

“Yes! Jesus Connor how many times do I have to tell you; no taking out hits for me!”

“I’m sorry to be redundant Hank but it is pivotal for my Christmas research that as many matters as possible are clarified.” The android paused, looked down at the notebook and then looked up at Hank through his lashes. “And…Kellogg also remains off of the table?”

“Yep,” Hank said quickly, before the look could get to him. God as his fucking witness there would be no illegally pilfered quacking tigers in this household.

“Hmm. Well. One attempt out of the three isn’t bad so far. Out of these outfits, which of them do you like the best, Hank?”

“Yes.”

“Oh um. I’m sorry Hank, but that is not a definitive answer my processors can’t - ”

* * *

##  _🎵…Three butt ugly ass outfits🎵_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For more updates, fic shorts, headcanons, asks, and other nonsense check out my tumblr at: https://emiliaf25.tumblr.com/


	4. Fourth Day Of Christmas

##  **On the fourth day of Christmas my android son gave to me….**

“Hey - ‘the fuck!? Sumo! Get over here boy!”

Hank had arrived home to many strange affairs since Connor came to live with him (the balloon maze was particularly memorable), but this was the first time Sumo had come barreling out the front door like the doggy devil was on his heels.

Thankfully the 170lb fluff balls didn’t run right into him (which would suck because Hank did not fancy fucking his back up on his frozen driveway like some geriatric asshole for all the neighborhood to see), and instead ran past him, made a sharp turn, paws skidding on the ice, and planted himself behind Hank, practically burying his big head into Hank’s calves.

“Whas’amater boy? The squirrels spook you again?” Hank was of course referring to his neighbor’s ceramic lawn ornaments across the street. Real squirrels, easily smaller than one of Sumo’s paws, would have sent the hound up a tree and stuck up there for several hours.

As if things couldn’t get more alarming, Connor burst out the door not long after in a similar flurry, slamming it behind him and leaning back against it. He braced himself against each side of the door’s frame. His LED was fire truck red, his chest was heaving, and there was a wild look in his eyes. 

“Hank, I need you and Sumo to go…out…somewhere. For a few hours. Please.”

At least he sounded calm. Granted, that meant little when you had a program that forcefully modulated your voice during a crisis. “What the hell is going on? What’s wrong with Sumo?”

“Sumo is fine. He simply senses an apex predator in his midst.”

Before Hank could respond to that ominous, and still non explanatory statement, the door started banging against Connor’s back. Hank was immediately on guard, hand resting on his holstered gun. The door banged again and again, bouncing Connor forward as he desperately tried to stay upright and keep whatever was on the other side from escaping.

Suddenly the living room window curtains began to rustle. The fabric was pushed aside, revealing a…goose? A white goose. Just a…normal white goose…what. What the fuck?

It pecked the glass. Not hard enough to break (were geese beaks strong enough to break glass? Was that the stupidest question he had ever asked in his life?), but with enough force that it was audible from the outside.

“Honk,” it said.

Three more geese popped up into view.

“Honk honk.”

Sumo whimpered pathetically, a trembling mound of fluff and cowardice. Hank gave his dog an unimpressed look. “Jesus Christ I should’ve named you Scooby Doo. Have you ever dogged in your life?”

Instead of coming to Sumo’s defense like he usually would (“ _don’t be so hard on him Hank 1 in 165 people are attacked by squirrels everyday he has a right to be weary!_ ”), Connor took one look at the window and his eyes went wide like he too had seen the doggy devil himself and his LED started blinking like a strobe light. “Shit! He called for backup!”

Hank frantically looked at the window as well - what! What did he miss!?

Everything looked the same, except now the goose in the middle had a knife clamped in its beak.

“Connor what in the unholy ass tits - !?”

“Hank I must insist that you and Sumo vacate the premises.” Hank had seen Connor look less serious during crime scenes. When he spoke again his voice was low, resonating with terrors untellable:

“ _I have made a grave mistake._ ”

 _Tap tap tap…_ “Honk.”

The window was fogged now; a message in all capital letters was scribbled in the condensation.

YOUR END WILL NOT BE PAINLESS.

The goose with the knife stared directly into Hank’s eyes. Like he was looking into his soul, and found him wanting.

And just when Hank thought he couldn’t get more freaked out by birds. Hello new phobia you have now upgraded from birds to birds with knives.

Connor stood up straighter, eyes flashing with renewed determination at the threat. “I see. Peace was never an option.” He whipped his own gun out and cocked it. “Please do not return for six hours.” He then kicked the door open with his heel, taking a wide step backwards into the house before slamming the door closed.

Hank exchanged looks with Sumo. He spared a thought that maybe he should help his son battle these dinosaurs in the guise of fluffy avians.

On the other hand. Birds.

 _Eugh_. Fuck that noise.

“Come on Sumo. Jeffrey and Angela are about to get some unexpected visitors.” His boss’s wife _did_ say that the dog was always welcome to come by the last time Hank had brought him over. 

Hell, maybe he could actually get some egg nog with a little kick in it while he was at it. If he was going to pay for leaving Connor at the tender mercies of evil geese he might as well enjoy the quiet while he could.

* * *

##  _🎵…Four bastard gooses🎵_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For more updates, fic shorts, headcanons, asks, and other nonsense check out my tumblr at: https://emiliaf25.tumblr.com/


	5. Fifth Day Of Christmas

##  **On the fifth day of Christmas my android son gave to me….**

The DPD bullpen was either a chaotic hellhole of stressed officers and even more stressed out civilians or a contest of who could do the stupidest time wasting activity for the longest without Fowler yelling at them. There was no in between, and the day could switch from the latter to the former at the drop of a dime.

Today was a “who could stack the most coffee creamers cups on Tina’s hat while it was on her head” kind of day (at least for now). To their credit, at least a few officers were tackling any backlogged paperwork, Connor (obviously) and Hank (all of it last minute and overdue) were among those few.

“UNO!” Gavin crowed, throwing his hands up as he placed another caramel macchiato creamer on top of Tina’s hat successfully.

“Stop saying uno! We’re not playing Uno!”

“Stop shaking around and trying to cheat me fucker!”

“I’m shaking from rage!”

“ _Fa la la la la, la la la la la LA!_ ”

Gavin and Tina stopped bickering. Everyone else paused in their task too, looking around in confusion at the faint sound of what could only be a chorus of people singing acapella.

“It’s not the TV,” Ben said before anyone could ask.

“Did someone change their ringtone to a Christmas theme or something?” asked Chris.

“Psh! Who’s the lame ass that did that?”

Tina whipped her head at Gavin with such aghast disgust that all the creamers fell off her head, to the despair of Mikael who had been just about to stack his cup. “You _dare_!? When yours is _I’m Already Tracer_?”

“Don’t gimmie that cringe culture BS it’s a good song!”

“It sounds kinda like carolers, actually,” Mikael said.

Charles looked up from his desk at that, brows furrowed skeptically. “People do that in real life?”

“ _Yeah_ \- uh. I mean…maybe? I’m sure they do it in Europe still…”

The singing was getting louder, pinpointed to the waiting room now, and it was very clear that it was coming from a group of people.

Suddenly Connor, who had been curiously trying to decipher the strange phenomenon along with everyone else, abruptly pushed up from his seat, eyes wide and LED red. 

“Oh no.”

“What? Did you order the carolers, Connor?” asked Mikael.

“You can _order_ carolers?”

“Dude you can order anything these days.”

Hank, who had been trying to ignore the strange phenomenon and everyone else, gave Connor a look of tired exasperation. “Seriously kid? I really think you’re taking this Christmas spirit thing too far….”

“You draw the line at carolers Lieutenant?” Person said, smiling while eyeing his Furby print ugly Christmas sweater pointedly.

“I sure as fuck do - ”

Hank cut himself off. Any officer that had been in mid conversation cut themselves off too. It was very much a “cut yourself off” kind of occasion at that moment, so there was no begrudgement on anyones part.

Because marching down the center of the bullpen were three very attractive men on one side and two very attractive women next to them. They had on big, dazzling smiles and…very little else. The “little else” consisting of boots, mistletoe nipple tassels and thongs, g _reen sequin thongs_ , Santa hats, and the tears of however many radical conservatives they undoubtedly had to pass by in order to get to the DPD station.

“ _We wish you a merry orgie,_ ” sang the guys.

“ _We wish you a merry orgie,_ ” sang the gals.

“ _We wish you a merry orrrrr-giiieeeeeee,_ ” they all sang together. “ _And a haaaa-ppyyyy fuckkkk fesssst!_ ”

All of them got down on one knee and did jazz hands, as the last notes warbled gaily from their throats. They were all surrounding Hank’s desk, where Hank’s body was currently sitting, which was sans a soul, because it had retreated to a land where nearly naked supermodels had not belted out raunchy show tunes at him.

“Nonononono!” Connor exclaimed, coming around his desk to stand in front of Hank as if he could protect him from this naked hoard. His protection was in vain. All that remained of the Hank Anderson he knew before the Naked Times was a carcass full of embarrassment and questions. “I ordered five ORGANS not five ORGIES.” He held up his hand in front of the brunette woman, whose natural curls had gold tinsel artfully entwined in the strands. The hologram on his hand displayed a receipt. 

The woman pulled out a piece of paper tucked unobtrusively in the strap of her thong, peering at it and Connor’s hand a few times before clicking her tongue. “Yep, that seems to check out. There must have been an error in the system.”

The rest of the group, stage smiles already strained during the lag in getting down to business (what business that may be, Hank did not want to know), groaned and muttered as they all climbed back to their feet.

“I am going to _fight_ dispatch. This is the third time this month they’ve pulled some shit like this!” the blond man said, the little bells sewn in his impressive beard jingling in his ire. “Why the hell are the organ and orgie services running on the same system anyway?”

“Management just doesn’t wanna update,” the other woman, whose flashing candy cane earrings swung about as she shook her head. “They know the old tech is trash, but they’re too scared to try something new because they’re afraid of the temporary loss in profits from a switch over. But like? _Hello_? Isn’t it better to lose a little in the short term, then to lose money and tarnish your reputation over time?”

The others nodded in agreement, buzzing with “yeas!” and “she’s right and she should say its!”

“Whaaaaaaaaaaaat company sells orgies _and_ organs? What audience is demanding these services? _Together_?” Mikael asked. Not to anyone in particular (mostly he was addressing the universe, or the people in charge of handing out business licenses), but the bell bedecked viking man cheerfully answered anyway.

“Oh, the company we work under is called Orgie Trails - the organ sales got added like, maybe a couple of years ago? But there are products listed if you’re interested.”

“You can make your orders through our website, by phone, or any iGlass mobile app, except for the iGlass 6.3. None of our services are compatible with that phone or tablet,” the candy cane clad woman chirped like she had to recite that at least forty times a day.

“I really am sorry about all the confusion,” Connor said, the picture of contriteness. 

“Oh no this is definitely not on you!” the tinsel haired girl exclaimed. “We take full responsibility, and we’ll make sure there were no excess charges made to your account.”

“This isn’t a better alternative,” Hank finally said, “no offense to you guys - ”

An olive skinned man shrugged, nipple tassels bouncing at the motion. “None taken.”

“But why. Why why WHY Connor, would you think that I would want _five_ pianos? At all? I don’t even want _one_ piano!”

Connor blinked. “Pianos?”

Hank waved his hand impatiently. “You know what I mean - organs. Those big ass piano things you see in churches or the Phantom of the Opera. Those things.”

Connor stared at Hank, face blank. The longer the android remained silent, the heavier the sense of dread pressing against Hank’s chest became.

“You. You were talking about the musical instrument, right Connor?” Hank asked quietly.

“…Yes. Of course. Organs. Of the piano variety. If you’ll excuse me, I need to go make a private phone call.” With a quick nod to the Orgie Trails crew, Connor about faced and power walked over to the break room. If Hank heard a hissed “ _Cancel the livers!_ ”, then gee fucking golly he needed to stop turning up his music so loud in the car because he must be hearing things.

_Surely he must._

“Holy - ! _Gavin_? Gavin Reed is that you?”

Tina did a double take, because not only was Gavin no longer by her side, but he had somehow materialized near the front entrance without her noticing. He froze mid tiptoe, turning to the red haired woman who had called out to him with wide deer caught in headlights eyes and a grimacing smile.

“Heyyyyyyy Claudia, heh heh. It’s uh. It’s been a minute.”

Candy cane earrings, aka Claudia, folded her arms across her chest and snorted sardonically. “It needs to be longer.”

“Goddamnit, I _knew_ I recognized this address from somewhere!” Bell-beard exclaimed. “So you still work here huh? Made sergeant yet?”

“Nope,” Gavin said as if it were a strain to speak, smile frozen. “Not yet.”

“Ohhhhhhhhhhhh, okay,” the blond man said in that airy tone every soccer mom used when they were being insincere as fuck. “I’m sure you’ll get it…soon.”

“ _Could’veswornhesaidintwoyearsafterdetective_ ,” Claudia said as she coughed into her hand, not even being a tiny bit subtle about it. Then again, when you’re half naked in what were essentially Christmas themed stickers covering your modesty in the middle of a police station, subtlety wasn’t really the name of the game here.

“Come on guys. We’re all adults here. Let’s not bring things up that we’ve all already moved past,” an olive skinned man with _I am a ho ho hoe_ trimmed meticulously into his goatee chided gently. 

“I know this answer is obvious but um, just to clarify,” Mikael said carefully. There was a tension in the bullpen now, and for some reason it was not only because there were hot naked people in the room now. “You guys…all,” he gestured between the Orgie Trails and Gavin, “know each other?”

The tinsel haired girl rolled her eyes and looked away, as if she couldn’t bear to have Gavin in her line of sight. “ _Mmm_. Didn’t talk about us. What a surprise.”

“We were all in a polyamorous relationship with him,” the ho ho hoe fellow said.

“Since when you secret keeping bastard?” Tina said, brows furrowed and tone disappointed, as if the lack of trust wounded her deeply. She held up her phone at him, which was currently on record. “And make sure to enunciate bitch.”

“ _Um_ how ‘bout can my business be my fucking business!?”

“Four years ago before this unwashed trash rat cheated on us!” Claudia yelled.

“Oh Jesus Christ Gavin,” Chris put in. He had been studiously avoiding eye contact and muttering ‘ _I’m married I’m happy I’m married I’m happy’_ since the arrival of the Orgie Trails folks, but apparently the mention of infidelity was enough to raise his hackles.

“Ohhhh my fuck can we _please_ not do this here - TINA STOP FILMING!”

In response to that demand, Tina made a show of zooming in on Gavin’s increasingly reddening face while maintaining eye contact. “I can’t post you on Cheaters.com without documented evidence.”

Gavin put his head in his hands and made a guttural growl that came from the depths of his swiss cheese of a soul. “ _Can you have my back for once in your life!_ ”

“I do have your back; by not supporting your fucked up life choices through _humiliation_!”

“No no, it’s fine,” Bell-beard said. “We were just leaving - gotta make a report to the office and see about our next appointment.” He turned to Hank, apologetic and professional. “Again, we are _so_ sorry for the mix up.”

Hank saluted the guy with his coffee mug. The shock had worn off, and now this was just another day at the office, to be recorded later in the _‘Shit We’ve Seen On The Job’_ log that every precinct had. “Sorry you had to come all the way down here in the cold for nothin’.”

“Aw heh, it’s no big deal, it’s a temp job. We’re all doing this for fun - trying something out of our comfort zones, ya know?”

“Right _Gavin_?” Tinsel-hair suddenly spat vehemently. “Guess we’re not a bunch of boring homebodies holding you back from finding yourself _after all…_ ” Her breath hitched and she craned her head at the ceiling, fanning her face as she sniffled continuously. Claudia took hold of her shoulders while the others made noises of comfort.

Gavin took his head out of his hands and, to his credit, actually looked genuinely regretful. “Fuck I….I told you I wasn’t thinking straight when I said that - ”

“I can’t believe you’re making me cry on the job,” she shot back tightly. “You _fucking_ ASSHOLE - ” she choked on her words, tears falling without her permission.

“Sharay…”

“Nope, no more from you,” Claudia snapped. “Let’s go guys.” She lead the now openly sobbing Sharay towards the exit. The others followed, making a circle around the two women as a sort of shield. Bell-beard shot Gavin a dirty look on the way out, while the other two men shook their heads in disappointment.

Gavin reached out a helpless hand towards them when they were a considerable distance away. “Wai…ugh shit!! Wait wait wait!” He started to chase after them, voice carrying from the waiting room. “Can we talk - one of you guys clock me out!”

“Fuck off!” Tina poked her finger particularly hard to end the recording. She pointed at Chris with a fearsome look. “Don’t you _dare_ clock him out.” She turned that look on everyone else, the ultimatum of _‘comply’_ or ‘ _be set on fire_ ’ abundantly clear. 

Chris had his hands up in surrender. “Ok ok!” 

No one else had any particular fondness of Gavin that they would risk Tina’s ire for something so small, so they pretty much returned to their own business.

“Oh hey you were right Hank,” Mikael said. “They do sell those big pianos with the pipes in them, see.” He turned his phone towards Hank, which displayed a bunch of pictures of pipe organs in various sizes, with varying prices listed underneath each one.

Ben let out a little hysterical laugh from his desk. “ _Oh thank god_ I’m so glad someone finally addressed that!”

“Give us a break Ben,” Chris said, “we can only focus on one crazy thing at a time - ”

“For the last time, I said I want to _cancel_ my order! _CAN-CEL_!” Connor’s angry voice, a tone most at the precinct didn’t hear often, belted suddenly from the break room. When Hank leaned back in his chair, he could see the android pacing a trench into the floor. “…yes….uh huh….NO! I will not settle for an exchange! I do NOT want a spleen! WHAT THE HELL WOULD I DO WITH A SPLEEN ON CHRISTMAS!?”

The team exchanged disquieted glances as Connor continued to rave at whatever poor customer support fuck he was arguing with. 

“Who’s uh…” Mikael started slowly. “Who’s…Connor…talking - ”

“Don’t ask, Wilson,” Hank grunted, turning stubbornly back to his paperwork with a sense of finality. 

“But - ”

“ _DON’T_. **ASK**.”

* * *

##  _🎵…FIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIVVVVVEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE._ _OF GAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAVINSSS_ _EXES!!!!🎵_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For more updates, fic shorts, headcanons, asks, and other nonsense check out my tumblr at: https://emiliaf25.tumblr.com/


	6. Sixth Day Of Christmas

##  **On the sixth day of Christmas my android son gave to me…**

It was becoming routine this past month for Hank to brace himself for shenanigans (at the least) or something that would haunt his waking hours (at worst) whenever Connor had been alone in their house for a significant amount of time.

It wasn’t a healthy way to live, being in a constant state of anxiety like this, especially in places deemed relaxation zones for him. But all the stress was his own damn fault, Hank readily admitted. He knew he could tell the kid to tone it down at any time and Connor would do it in a heartbeat. But Hank couldn’t bear to snuff out his enthusiasm (better catch these hands if you wanna hear that sappy shit out loud!!), no matter how off the wall or annoying it was. Besides, Hank was pretty confident that he’d be laughing this whole thing off come next month. The only reason he wasn’t able to now was because he kept getting hit with this nonsense back to back.

Case in point: the second Hank stepped into the house, he was met with the sight of Connor hanging upside down from the ceiling fan, holding a velvet bag tucked against his chest.

Hank did a quick preliminary “ _is anything broken and is anything alive that’ll scare the snot out of me?_ ” check of the immediate vicinity. When he couldn’t spy anything out of order he finally addressed the slowly spinning android in the room.

“Whatever reason you have to be up there, it’s not good enough. Get down before you break your neck.”

“I assure you I’m quite secure. I reinforced the base months ago.”

“Pretty sure my fan wasn’t in any danger of falling.”

“Correct. I merely wanted to ensure that my weight would be supported safely.” Then he added, when Hank let out a deep frustrated sigh: “I have found that this position is very helpful when I need to think.”

“What you need is a damn nap.”

“ _You have gone_ **EIGHTY. SIX. HOURS**. _past the recommended time without a_ **STASIS. CYCLE**.”

Jesus Christ - what was that? Over three days?! Hank threw his arms out towards his old Alexa, eyebrows raised pointedly. No one was quite sure if she had turned deviant or not, but it was occasions like this - when she would chime in to a conversation unprompted - that had everyone treating her like she was anyway. Just in case.

Connor shot the black cylinder a dirty look. No electronic solidarity in this house, apparently. “Napping can wait. I would like you to see this first.”

Without warning, Connor flung his legs forward so that he did a quick back flip, landing on his feet.

Hank eyed him up and down, unimpressed. “Ten out of ten. Now go to bed.”

The RK800 turned the dirty look to Hank now. _Yeesh_. Apparently an android without sleep was a grumpy android. “Not that. _This_.” He thrust the bag at Hank.

The old Lieutenant sent a prayer up to the big McDonalds in the sky (for only clowns could have preordained a life such as his) that whatever was in the bag wasn’t slimy or venomous. He undid the draw string, ignored Connor’s unamused stare when he braced himself (that’s some nerve from a guy who unleashed a pack of geese in here not a few days ago) and pulled out a…a-album? Oh. It was an old fashioned vinyl album - one of six of them.

Hank glanced up at Connor, who was badly hiding his excited impatience as usual. He would say that he’d take anything as long as it wasn’t another surprise orgie (though that sounded like a challenge he REALLY didn’t want to give Connor) but this seemed to be another gift (gift? Gift idea? ‘ _Meh. Don’t try to pretend you know what’s going on Anderson’_ ) more to his tastes. The side he was holding was all black with a couple of descriptions from critics on it. They read:

“ _I have been a jazz connoisseur for forty-eight years now, and I can honestly say I have never heard anything like this…_ ”

_“I spent most of the time listening to this album with my hands over my mouth, going ‘What is happening?….’”_

“ _There is a feeling on the emotional spectrum that the tracks on this album evoke and it is unnameable…_ ”

“ _A solid 3.2 out of 3.2…_ ” 

Wow. Those sure were some ringing endorsements. Mentally shrugging to himself, he flipped the album over to see who this artist was. The reviews hadn’t scared him off. He had listened to enough music in his day to know that at the end of the day, your own ears were the only critique you could truly trust -

……….

Hank couldn’t believe what he was seeing with his own two eyeballs. He was torn between feeling incredulousness that this had existed in the world all this time and he had never heard of it, and deep seated pride in Connor. Had his boy, at long last, figured out how to prank people properly? Would he spread his newfound Trolling gospel to the other androids of New Jericho, who still collectively thought that putting a whoopie cushion under someone’s seat were for hardcore edge lords alone?

From Connor’s equal parts confused and horrified expression, it would seem that was not the case.

“Hank I…that’s not what I meant to give you, I swear!”

“What? Did you not check what was in there first before you bought it?” Hank asked lightly. “That’s not like the _Mister X-ray Vision First Ask Questions Later_ that I know.” He thumbed through the other five albums. All of them were by Kamski, and everything down to the art to the reviews looked legit. Good God, were these _actually_ made in ernest? Did Kamski have a secret passion for music that he wasn’t able to pursue until he left CyberLife? Or was it all a bunch of parody music? And if so, that begged the question if Kamski was able to see beyond his own nose enough to even _have_ a sense of humor?

“I have never used my X-ray feature outside of work - 

Cool cool the answer Hank was looking for was “ _I don’t have an x-ray installed in my eyeballs Hank_ ” but yea fine that was great too.

“ - but the sales associate assured me that this was the greatest jazz music of the century and came highly recommended…” His LED cycled between yellow and red, and there was a lost look in his eyes that made for a very pitiful picture. “I think a mother fucker played me, Hank.”

“Meh, might’ve. And well…everybody’s got different tastes. Maybe they really think this is the best thing since Coltrane.”

“Nothing about Mr. Kamski’s profile suggests that this will be true.”

The more dejected Connor sounded, the more Hank wanted to be optimistic about the whole thing. Which was probably the only time he would associate such a positive word with the father of androids. “Only one way to find out.” He took the record out and put it in his player. There was something soothing about hearing that initial scratch and crackle. It always brought Hank back to nights spent with his grandparents, while he played with spoons or pool balls or whatever he could get his grubby little mitts on at their feet in the family room. Hopefully whatever came out of the speakers now wouldn’t taint that memory.

A slow beat on the cymbals. Then a slick standing bass thrummed in. Then a smooth ass saxophone warbled its sirens call.

Well hot damn. Hank lifted his eyebrows at Connor, tapping a beat against his pants. That wasn’t half fucking bad -

“ _Uh skiddily diddly doodily dip dip dip ZOOOOOOOWWWW._ ”

Oh. Oh holy God above.

“ _OOOOOOOOOOOOOOO Ship ship ship zipibiy deep deep deep AHHHwwwwwOOOWWWW! A scoobidality dibbity dabbity deviancy was an accident on the lab!_ ”

Connor looked like he had just straight up bluescreened, like his android soul was trying to escape his body, only to find that not even ascension to an immortal realm could help him escape Kamski’s dulcet tones. If Connor was feeling what Hank was feeling at that moment, then he had no fucking idea what he was feeling.

“ _Zab wah wah wah wah wah I let patient zeroowowowowowoahhhh go out into the wizzidiy dizzidy wildddd on a whim scoobidat skibbidy bot zoop zoop zeeeeEeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeEEEEEEEEEE zabada zing!_ ”

That critic was right. If there was a nameable emotion to describe what Hank was feeling right now, then it was not in any tongue knowable to mankind.

“I’m sorry Hank. I will return… _this_ …the moment the thrift store I bought it from opens tomorrow - ”

“No way! We’re keepin’ this shit.”

“….You …enjoy…this….” Connor’s LED cycled yellow, searching the world wide web for the correct word. It flashed red, an indicator he probably hadn’t found one. Just as well. Who knows what you could accidentally speak into existence. “…sound?” he settled on.

“Fuck no.”

“But…you want to keep them?”

“Yea.”

Connor’s LED flashed a rapid red. “Christmas is confusing.”

Hank pat his shoulder and gave it a shake. “Don’t think too hard on it.”

“On the contrary, I will think even harder.” He pulled out his unicorn notebook and pen, muttering to himself as he scribbled in it, “Maybe to the albums, no to the organs, definitely no to the geese, yes to the outfits, a soft no to the contract killings - ”

“A _hard_ no to the contract killings.”

Connor spared Hank a glance, which was neither a confirmation nor a denial but entirely worrying. Just because he would hide bodies for his family didn’t mean _wanted_ to. “And no tiger cub…even though he is very out of the way and has been on his best behavior.”

“Alexa: turn the beat up,” Hank said in response to that little comment.

Alexa’s ring lit up turquoise and blue. “ _Okay, I can do that._ ”

“ _SKIBBIDY DOP DOP DOOOOWWW…._ ”

Connor glared at Hank.

“ _Here are_. **TEN**. **FACTS**. _about ani-droid care that every household needs to know…”_ Alexa’s electronic voice continued. 

Now it was Hank’s turn to glare. “Alexa: cancel that.”

There was a long pause, and since Hank _did_ know better, it was most likely petulant. “… _okay. I can do that. I guess_.”

Hank rolled his eyes, and went over to grab some leftovers from the fridge before it started pouting at him too.

* * *

##  _🎵…Six of Kamski’s debut albums_ _🎵_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For more updates, fic shorts, headcanons, asks, and other nonsense check out my tumblr at: https://emiliaf25.tumblr.com/


	7. Seventh Day Of Christmas

##  **On the seventh day of Christmas my android son gave to me…**

“Uhhhh we havin’ a dinner party that I forgot about?” Hank asked.

There were several full plates of dinner, seven to be exact, on his relatively small dining table. They were as artfully arranged as they could be, crammed as they were on the limited space. It all looked like something straight out of Food Network, or a Pinterest aesthetic board, and it smelled even better.

Connor was standing behind the spread, dressed in an apron with a paw print pattern and a chefs hat. He was rocking on the balls of his feet, and looked as pleased as thirium punch - not to be confused with Thirium-Blue Hawaiian Punch, which was a human friendly drink and a marketing nightmare.

“There’s no occasion. I have merely come to realize that I have been thinking too extravagantly, when that is not in line with your personality at all. You are more…down to earth, and thus your Christmas gift should reflect that.”

“Well, I won’t say you ain’t on the right track.” Hank eyed the rack of lambs and soufflé. “A seven course meal is still kinda excessive, though.”

“I thought a taste testing would serve as both an enjoyable activity and a suitable way to collect information.”

“Yea, that shits right up my alley alright.” Hank took a seat at the table. He rolled his eyes as Connor hovered around watching him, but was otherwise unconcerned. He’d had two years to adjust to the people he spent the most time with not needing nor wanting to eat, so it was no skin off Hank’s nose now.

He took a big bite of that juicy, tender looking lamb. Seasoned to perfection, with a hint of smoke from the charcoal from the grill out in the backyard -

It was disgusting. Literally the worst thing Hank had ever tasted in his life and he had drank a 2 week old milk, potato chip, and hot sauce shake on a dare once. 

Hank’s first instinct was to _spit it the fuck out_ , a primal urge to extract this foreign entity attacking his precious human organs. He probably would have too, if he hadn’t caught Connor’s questioning gaze. His wringing hands as he awaited Hank’s verdict.

Christ in a hand basket, when did he get so fucking soft?

So Hank choked down that piece of maybe poison, and he did so without making it appear he was choking it down with every iota of his being. “It’s…” he belched a little, a bit of food coming up. No! Don’t you fucking - ! Down! _Get the fuck back in there you pussy_! “It’s…s’alright.”

Connor didn’t look too satisfied, but it was better than heartbroken. “Hmm. Maybe something else would be more palatable?”

Hank eyed the rest of the plates as if they were an army of the damned, and he but a Tom Cruise like protagonist making his last stand in slow motion.

“Yea. YEA! Let’s try something else.” He rolled up his sleeves, trying to hype himself up. _Come on Anderson_ , he thought, _they didn’t call you the Iron Stomach back at the Academy for nothin’!_

Connor seemed a bit startled by his sudden bravado, but Hank didn’t pay it any mind. He wasn’t about to let some stupid broccolini take charge of his life. He had the power! Taste was an illusion! Humans only needed the bare essentials to sustain a healthy diet -

“BLARRRRRGGGGHHHHHHH!!”

Connor fretted outside the bathroom door as Hank prayed to the porcelain God yet again. Though at this rate and with how many times he had done this, it was more like a desecration of a holy site.

“…but I _swear_ there was no malware in the download! I checked three times before installing it!”

“ _Mmm_ ,” Collin tutted on the other line. “ _It still sounds like the symptoms for Fancy_Feet.exe._ ”

“It was _Fancy_FEAST_! I even made sure it wasn’t the one for cats! I am pulling up my download history now and it says it right there. I’ll send it to you!”

“ _…let’s see…uh huh…ohhh shit. I think I know what happened -_ ”

“What what! Should I take him to the hospital - !”

“ _Naaaahhh. The recipes just make everything_ ** _taste_** _specifically like feet, no food poisoning involved at all._ ”

Connor winced as Hank emitted a particularly loud hurl that sounded more reminiscent of the cookie monster at a monster truck rally. “Are you certain? Sumo is a mammal as well, and he’s never had this kind of reaction to socks.” 

“ _Idk man humans got all the worst parts in a grab bag of genetics. Ah…yep, it’s definitely a file hidden in a file hidden in another file. Sorry Con, my friend vouched pretty hard for this torrent site. I should’ve vetted it myself…._ ”

“No…” Connor sighed deeply. “We were _both_ mistaken. I should have had Mikael do a preliminary taste check when he offered. Now poor Hank has to pay for my arrogance.”

“ _Don’t beat yourself up Con. He’ll be fine in one -_ ”

“BLAAAAAAAAAAAARGGGARRRRAAAAARRR _OH GOD IT WON’T STOP_ BLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLEEEEEEEEEEEEH!!”

“ _\- in a couple of hours._ ”

Connor sighed again, utterly defeated. “I’ll talk to you later Collin. I need to grab some towels…and perhaps some bio-hazard bags…”

* * *

##  _🎵…Seven fancy_feet.exe dinners_ _🎵_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For more updates, fic shorts, headcanons, asks, and other nonsense check out my tumblr at: https://emiliaf25.tumblr.com/


	8. Eighth Day Of Christmas

##  **On the eighth day of Christmas my android son gave to me…**

**[Hank]** : Con

 **[Hank]** : Connnnnn

 **[Hank]** : Are you still pouting on the roof?

 **[Connor]** : I am not on the roof…

 **[Nines]** : He is still pouting on the roof

 **[Connor]** : ( .__.) you are supposed to be on my side Nines

 **[Nines]** : I am on the side of getting you off of the roof because it is cold and that side alone

 **[Hank]** : I can HEAR you guys up there. ya’ll ain’t quiet.

 **[Connor]** :….then why did you ask?

 **[Hank]** : -__- a fools hope I’d catch you in the process of comin down

 **[Connor]** : I am not pouting. I am merely…ruminating

 **[Hank]** : Uh huh. And when are you gonna be done ruminating?

 **[Connor]** :…..

 **[Connor]** : Shortly

 **[Hank]** : 🙄

 **[Hank]** : Would it become less shortly if I said I forgive you for the food thing the other day?

 **[Hank]** : And thank you for the fuck ton of nuggets and fries?

 **[Hank]** : for the 80th time?

 **[Connor]** : …..

 **[Connor]** : I feel undeserving of your forgiveness

 **[Hank]** : Well too damn bad cuz you got it

 **[Hank]** : Now come on kid. Before I eat everything

 **[Hank]** : Including allllll the barbecue sauce

 **[Connor]** : I bought eight large combo meals I doubt you could eat it all so quickly

**[Hank]** : you think this is a game

 **[Connor]** : o(O.O)o hey hey hey don’t eat all of the sauce! You don’t even like barbecue sauce!

 **[Nines]** : I have already laid claim to a box of nuggets. Do not eat them

 **[Hank]** : bold words from a couple of punks ten nuggets and three sauces away from the door

 **[Connor]** : okay okay we’re coming down!

 **[Nines]** : I have cut people for less Lieutenant

 **[Hank]** : better hurry bitches I’m a eatin’ ass mother fucker we don’t waste fast food in this house

 **[Connor]** : We’re almost there! Desist eating immediately!

**[Hank]** : that’s one down five to go 😈

 **[Connor]** : (>T.T)> Hank no!

  
 **[Hank]** : Hank yes!

* * *

##  _🎵…Eight Mc Combo meals in apology_ _🎵_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For more updates, fic shorts, headcanons, asks, and other nonsense check out my tumblr at: https://emiliaf25.tumblr.com/


	9. Ninth Day Of Christmas

##  **On the ninth day of Christmas my android son gave to me…**

_Work it harder. Make it better. Do it faster. Makes us stronger (I need you right now)…_

Hank picked up his phone on the second ring.

“What’s up kid?”

“ _Good evening Hank um…_ ”

 _Um_? Ah fuck.

Sighing, Hank set his phone on speaker and put it on his desk. Might as well finish up these reports while he got the bad news. “What’d you blow up and how long should I stay out?”

“ _Excuse you but I have never once blown anything up a small, easily containable fire is completely different from an explosion._ ”

Hank hoped Connor could _feel_ the flat stare he was giving the phone.

“Fire?” Charlie Wilson mouthed, swiveling his chair around now that the conversation had his attention.

“Bathtub last year, don’t ask.”

Charlie’s face looked like it very much wanted to ask, but Hank dutifully ignored him. He meant what he said; he did not want to think about the Bathtub Barbecue Incident of 2039. “Then what’s the issue, Connor?”

There was a pause. It was uncomfortably lengthy. Just as Hank was starting to picture the house being renovated into a full on wildlife sanctuary, Connor spoke again: “ _It’s…probably best if I showed you._ ”

His phone dinged. A text message notification from Connor popped up on the screen. With only the slightest bit of trepidation (because there was no point in fearing the inevitable), Hank swiped the bubble with his finger.

This time it was Hank who paused. He let it drag out as well - partly because he was trying to process what he was seeing, partly because he could be a dramatic little shit too.

“. _..Hank? Did you…receive the video?_ ”

“Yep. Still don’t see what the problem is. Is there another video, or…?”

“ _N - wait. You’re not…angry?_ ”

“Nah.”

“ _Oh…I….oh_.”

Charlie, Tina and Mikael, who were shamelessly nosing in on the conversation, kept shooting Hank exaggerated questioning looks while also looking to each other for answers. It was difficult keeping a straight face with all that going on over his head, and on top of hearing the unadulterated bafflement in Connor’s voice. This had to be the most stuttering the android had done all year!

“ _Does this mean…? Should I…clean up before you get home?_ ”

“Up to you but…maybe wait till I get home. Never had to swim in my house before. Might be interesting.”

“ _Oh right yes! Um…just so you know. This was not the end results I had in mind. I have lost all trust in the online delivery system._ ”

“Ah well, it’s the holidays. Everyone’s orderin’ shit in bulk at the same time - there’s bound to be fuck ups.”

“ ** _Not to this degree,_** ” Connor said severely.

Hank thought about the Orgie Trails. Hmm yea. Maybe not to this degree. “Anyway, gotta get back to work. See you when I get home. And don’t let Sumo suffocate under all that rubber.”

Now Hank could _definitely_ feel Connor’s glare through the phone. “Until you return home, Lieutenant,” he said shortly. Then the little fucker hung up, with just as much ‘tude.

Hank snorted, shaking his head. Guy recreates Noah’s Arc with balloons in the house but _Hank’s_ the one in trouble. What a fucking life he lived.

“ _Wow_ uh. Are you really ok with that, Lieutenant?” Chris asked hesitantly, as if he wasn’t sure what words would set Hank off but was determined to speak anyway. Which was annoying, but it was fair enough. It may have been two years, but humorless, hate everybody and everything Hank had left a mighty impression. “The balloons looked like they were up to his _neck_.”

“Of course he’s okay with it!” Tina said. “That looked fucking _awesome_. Didn’t you guys ever dream of balloon city as a kid?”

“No - what? That’s so specific. Of course not,” Chris said.

“I saw a guy fill someone’s house with bubbles on a prank show when I was a kid. _That’s_ what I always wanted,” Mikael put in.

Tina’s eyes lit up with unholy inspiration as she shook Mikael by the shoulders. “OOOOOO! That’s _genius_. Somebody call Connor!”

“Dooooooooon’t you fucking dare,” Hank said, glaring down his three subordinates. They all looked sheepish, even though Chris hadn’t contributed to that disaster of an idea. “If I see a single bubble in my house I’m puttin’ the blame on all three of ya - ”

“Hey!” Chris squeaked.

“ - and I can make your lives miserable _without_ abusing my power. You get me?”

“Yes, sir,” they all grumbled in varying degrees of compliance. 

Hank rolled his eyes and turned back to his computer. For fucks sake, at home or at the office, he was surrounded by brats.

He chuckled, almost reluctantly, to himself at the thought of Sumo trying to pounce on a pools worth of bubbles, like mounds of snow in his homeland, only for the big dog to disappear in the sudsy ocean.

Annoying, immature, creative brats. That he maybe didn’t mind being surrounded by.

* * *

##  _🎵…Nine….hundred balloons_ _🎵_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For more updates, fic shorts, headcanons, asks, and other nonsense check out my tumblr at: https://emiliaf25.tumblr.com/


	10. Tenth Day Of Christmas

##  **On the tenth day of Christmas my android son gave to me…**

When Hank woke up that morning it was on the wrong side of the bed. He was pissed that he’d forgotten to put socks on, so his feet practically froze when he stepped on the floor. He was pissed that he almost twisted his fucking ankle on that stupid cat ‘cuz he wasn’t looking where he was going. He was pissed that the sun was out and blinding him through every crevice of the house he passed and yet it was cold as fucking balls.

It was three days before Christmas. Later, much much later, Hank would accept _why_ he wanted everything and everyone to just - just _shut the fuck up_ and leave him alone for a second. Why he felt like gravity was pulling him down through the floor and why his mind was surrounded by cotton and fog. He would acknowledge that this was an improvement from last year, and a whole ass transformation from the year before that. And he’d feel damned good about it, and damned proud of himself that he hadn’t resorted to old, self-destructive habits.

Today was not later. And so, the only thing on Hank’s mind at the moment was a debate of whether he should go back to bed after he took care of Sumo, or go back to bed after taking care of Sumo _and_ eating himself.

He splashed water on his face. Avoided looking at the post it notes on the mirror, avoided looking at the mirror at all.

Yea. It was looking like an option one kinda day.

The smell of bacon and fresh coffee had him perking up a little as he shuffled down the hallway. Mustering up anything more than a grunt in greeting to Connor felt like lifting thousands of pounds of weight off of his chest (and fuck him it shouldn’t, it _really_ shouldn’t. It normally didn’t), but Hank never wanted him to feel like doin’ nice shit like this was an obligation. No matter how many years passed, Hank never wanted to fall back into the mindset of androids being mans object of convenience, and he never wanted Connor to fall back into subservient habits. Not even for a second. Not even on his bad days.

Turns out he revved himself up for a good and hardy “M’r’nin’ C’n” for nothing, because the android in question wasn’t there. Hank sighed as he let Sumo out (who was marching his front pause in place impatiently) the sliding glass door in the living room, and out to the backyard to do his business. Apparently it was also the kinda day where Hank was a little slower on the uptake. Connor was at work, he suddenly remembered now that he didn’t see him, and probably wouldn’t be back till later this evening without Hank there to push him to clock out at a normal time.

Hank shuffled over to the counter and poured a cup of coffee. The digital clock read that the pot had been sitting on the warmer for two minutes now. Kid had everything timed perfectly as usual, Hank thought with a self deprecating snort, and Connor definitely knew what was up. _All of_ the coffee confections were laid out, and not just a small pot of sugar, and breakfast, once he lifted the cover keeping it warm, was an unhealthy affair of cheesy scrambled eggs, french toast, and the promised bacon.

Damn. And Hank had really tried to keep his darkening mood to himself too. Should’ve known that you weren’t gonna get anything past Mr. Nanny Bot 800. 

He was about to dig in to the meal when he noticed an envelope tucked under the plate. _To: Hank, From: Connor_ , it read. Well yea, obviously, who the hell else would it be from? Sumo? Though he wouldn’t be all that surprised if Connor had somehow managed to teach his dog to write.

Munching on his eggs, he absently pulled out the note and read the letter, which was written on a familiar piece of pink binder paper with a bunch of unicorns in the margins:

_Dear Hank,_

_I noticed you were not feeling very well, so I thought it prudent to give you this gift with as little fanfare as possible. I also determined that having the gift today would provide you with the optimal amount of time to make arrangements with your schedule and anyone else you would like to invite._

_As this is a proper gift and not an idea, I apologize for breaking the normal Christmas tradition and ask that you consider this an “early gift”…_

Ok if that wasn’t the vaguest shit he’d ever seen. Hank didn’t see anything else on the table for the supposed gift, so he shook the envelope to see if there was any - 

Tickets fell out. Ten tickets fell out to be precise. And not just any tickets. _Gears_ tickets. Mother fucking _BOX TICKETS_ for the finals! 

“Holy fucking shit. _Holyfuckingshit_!!” Hank fanned the tickets out and held them close to his face. They looked legit - not that he thought Connor couldn’t spy scalped tickets upside down from a mile away - but… _Jesus Christ_! TEN fucking box tickets! That - that was insane! 

Hank went back to the note, hoping to find some answers. Like where the cinnamon toast _fuck_ Connor had gotten the money for ten _fucking_ tickets!?!?!? 

Ya know just as a warm up question. 

_…Sumo has already been fed, although he may need to go to the bathroom again by the time you get up, as I took him on a run this morning. There is soup in the refrigerator, as well as a large quantity of sandwiches if you feel up to it. Please try and eat something today if you can._

_I hope you have a good rest of your day! :D_

_~Connor_

Hank ran his hand over his face and through his beard, eyes squeezed tightly shut. Of course. Not a word more about how he got the tickets. And straight up asking would probably get some stupid ass answer like “ _Christmas Secretssss. An android never kisses and tells wink wonk._ ”

…..alright fine. That was more Collin’s M.O. He was still fucking blown away by this he couldn’t think straight give him a damn break.

Jeeze…honestly, Hank didn’t know if he wanted to laugh or cry. This gift was…yea. Pretty god damn outstanding. He hadn’t gone to a game in…since about the time he decided that the only outside activity he wanted to participate in was at a bar. Well, it wasn’t like the Gears had been anything to see until this year. So on top of this being his first stadium game in a long time, he was probably gonna be witness to some historical shit as well. 

And then there was all…this. All this little thoughtful shit. Taking out Sumo and fixing breakfast and the soup and sandwiches and, and…

Ah fuck. He really hadn’t set out to be happy today. Mildly okay? Yes. Pushing to stay conscious so his day off wasn’t a complete wash? Maybe. But happy? And whatever this stupid emotion was, that was making his chest and throat tight and his eyes water…

It was then that Sumo trudged back inside, scraping his snow and slush drenched paws against the doggy mat by the door (because of course he did apparently Connor had shaped this mutt into a whole ass Society Dog ™). He made a beeline for Hank’s knee, resting his big head so that it was angled at the maximum bacon-begging position.

Hank sniffed. He scrubbed his eyes hard. “I won’t say nothin’ to Connor if you won’t.”

Sumo whined. A verbal agreement if Hank had ever heard one. It would definitely hold up in court. 

He threw a piece of bacon on the floor and stroked Sumo’s fur as the St. Bernard chomped it down like he’d never had a meal in his life, let alone a few hours ago.

“What’dya think boy? Should I just give everybody at the office a ticket? Or should I say there’s only a few and they have to fight for it Hunger Games style?”

Sumo was currently in bacon heaven and so had no input on the matter.

That was alright. For Hank had deduced the _real_ challenge. Which would be getting Connor to play along. Maybe Hank could convince him to make _that_ his other Christmas present. 

He chuckled to himself (and if it sounded more playful, more alive than the man from earlier this morning, than only Sumo was there to witness it). Hank would make his son a proper troll yet.

* * *

##  _🎵…Ten Gears tickets for the finals_ _🎵_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For more updates, fic shorts, headcanons, asks, and other nonsense check out my tumblr at: https://emiliaf25.tumblr.com/


	11. Eleventh Day Of Christmas

##  **On the eleventh day of Christmas my android son gave to me…**

It was not until a few minutes before Hank was scheduled to be home that Connor realized he may have set the mood to be a little more dramatic than he intended.

The house was dim with the only source of light being the reading lamp in the living room. Connor was sitting on the couch. Sumo was on one side of his feet, snoozing gently to the tune of the gentle snowfall outside. On the other side lay an open box, with ten thick, weathered books stacked neatly inside. Connor was holding the eleventh book in his lap. The cover was a nondescript burgundy, cracked from age and ill care. Connor had tried to clean and repair what he could, but no one book was in the same state as the other. Some looked as good as new, others…well, _vintage_ would be the kindest description. He reminded himself, for 645th time, that as long as the contents inside were not compromised then it would be fine.

Hank would not be upset.

The sound of the car pulling up was easy to hear in the quiet. As was the footsteps approaching as they plodded through the icy sidewalk. As was the jingle of keys and the _clink clack_ of the lock mechanism turning in the door. That’s what Connor told himself, as he strained his audio processor, as he ran his hand along the spine of the book over and over.

“M’back,” Hank called amidst the whirl of stomping ice off his shoes and hanging his coat and scarf. He started towards the living room. “Why’s it so fucking dark in here? Ey Con I’ve gotta proposal for you; let’s get a pizza tonight since we’re gonna eat garbage for the next few days anyways - hey, you okay kid?”

Hank circled the couch and sat next to Connor. He looked worried now - it was in his voice and the furrow of his brow. Which was not what - this was supposed to be… _good_ or….it was going to be difficult enough without Hank getting worked up over needless concerns….

Nothing was going as planned. Connor had a speech prepared, and several backup ones - all of them showing a high probability for the least amount of emotional pain. But for whatever reason he couldn’t seem to get the words out, and the longer he sat there in silence with his LED being forced from red to blue in a continuous cycle the more worried Hank became until the whole moment was completely ruined and he should have taken more time to plan this out -

“ _This is for you,_ ” Connor said, words so rushed that they were probably unintelligible to human ears. He shoved the book into Hank’s arms, who took it with a surprised grunt, and snatched his hands back to tuck them into his lap as if they’d been burned.

Hank gave him a long stare full of (understandable) confusion, before turning his attention to the book. He did a double take, eyes slowly widening, as if he were truly seeing it for the first time. “What is…” he muttered faintly. Gently, Hank opened the cover, revealing a page full of pictures of varying sizes, all of them tucked neatly into plastic sleeves.

He lingered on the page, running his hand gently over each photo, before gingerly pinching the corner of the plastic encased paper between his two fingers and turning it. He did this again, and again. Saying nothing the entire time.

Connor fiddled with his hands as the silence stretched on. The atmosphere wasn’t heavy, necessarily, but he almost wished that were the case. The older man was one of the most emotional creatures Connor had ever met. He had never seen Hank just… _not_ react to something, particularly about something like this. There was no data to gather, no sure way to prevent an outcome where Hank wouldn’t suffer. Connor’s chassis felt tight, and his artificial lungs kept turning on automatically, only to malfunction and run at high, barely operable speeds.

And still there was silence.

“I found them while I was doing recon at Maria Jackson’s current residence.” The quiet words escaped past Connor’s lips, despite attempts to turn off his voice module and cancel the dialog prompt. When Hank looked up at him (still not saying anything, but the response was such a relief to Connor it was ridiculous), eyebrow raised, Connor hurriedly continued. “I didn’t do anything to her, as you requested! And I didn’t take anything else. The box was near a pile of other things with notes taped to them marking them as trash. But one of the albums was on top of the box and open, so I - I…” Connor trailed off, shrugging. 

“You snooped,” Hank finished for him without any particular tone inflection. The “ _in your potential target’s house_ ” went unsaid.

Connor nodded, tucking his hands in his lap again. Hank looked back down at the album, shaking his head slowly. “I can’t believe she went through all that trouble to steal these, and she was just gonna _throw_ ‘em all away. That…” His mouth thinned into a severe line, grip tightening on the cover so hard that his hands shook. He abruptly let go, caressing the page as if in apology, and sighed. “Thank you, Connor. I don’t care how you got them all. I…I haven’t seen these pictures in… _God you have no idea_ …” He sniffed, running his hand roughly over his face. When he looked at Connor again, his eyes were wet, but they weren’t unhappy. “Thank you _._ ”

“Of course.” Connor’s biocomponents settled down a bit more. At last, even after days and hours of doing preconstructions and calculations, it was only now that he felt like he hadn’t made a horrible mistake.

“Was… this,” Hank swept a hand at the box of albums, “another one of your Christmas inspirations?”

“No. These albums were always rightfully yours. Returning stolen property to their owner is not the definition of a ‘gift’,” Connor said, a little more severely than he intended. He adjusted his tie to gather some composure. “The only reason I didn’t give them to you sooner is because I…I could not determine the optimal ah…the best time to….”

“It’s ok kid,” Hank said, voice surprisingly gentle. “I get it.”

Connor’s shoulders dropped from their tensed up position, and he smiled carefully. Hank returned it tenfold.

“Hey. Wanna see some pics of your older brother?”

Connor’s eyes went wide and his entire body locked up in attention. Hank patted the cushion next to him invitingly, but otherwise made no further move or comment. Neither overly entreating nor at all rejecting. Said in the same tone as when he asked Connor if he wanted to watch the game or walk Sumo or go to the store with him.

It was on the tip of his tongue to ask if he meant it. To say he didn’t want to impose on something so personal.

Connor overrode the dialog prompt with a power of a thousand and one suns, and scooted closer without a word.

They looked over the pictures in the albums for the rest of the night. Cole Anderson’s bright smile and twinkling eyes gazed back at them, immortalized in the various poses and activities Hank had taken all those years ago. Sometimes Hank would tell stories, subdued laughter in his voice. Sometimes he would just stare, silent tears dripping down his cheeks and into his beard. Connor made no comments. Just listened, and absorbed. And leaned into the one armed hug Hank had him in.

This was the first time Connor was meeting his eldest brother, after all. And he wanted to pay attention. 

* * *

##  _🎵…Eleven albums of Cole_ _🎵_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For more updates, fic shorts, headcanons, asks, and other nonsense check out my tumblr at: https://emiliaf25.tumblr.com/


	12. Twelfth Day Of Christmas

[ ](https://emiliaf25.tumblr.com/image/189992060529)

_[Text: Thank you for being my father, even though I am very strange. Love Connor]_

##  **On the twelfth day of Christmas my android son gave to me…**

Connor stared at Hank staring at the card the android had just handed him.

It was Christmas day, and they were all on their way out the door. They’d just finished a chaotic morning of breakfast and exchanging gifts, and now they were headed to Chris Miller’s annual holiday party. After that they would be stopping at Carl Manfred’s home to spend time with the Jericrew for the rest of the day.

Depending on how long Connor, Hank and Nines could stand that much social interaction in one day would determine how long they stayed at the mansion.

Currently, Collin and Nines were outside, arguing (quite vocally for a pair of supposedly grown ass androids) about who would be riding in the front seat in Hank’s car.

Jokes on them, Sumo would be the one sitting shotgun this Christmas day.

Right as Hank was wrapping his scarf around his neck, admittedly a little slower than normal as he reveled in the few moments of argument free peace, Connor had shyly approached him and gave him the card.

“I know the drawing is rather…rudimentary, but I know you value creativity over dependency on programming so I turned off my photo-recreation program and ah…did my best…”

Hank continued to stare at him, struck with a loss for words. Yet again he found himself marveling at the fact that anything outside of a crime scene left Connor a ball of word vomiting anxiety.

“…and I would understand completely if you wanted to throw it away. It really is quite terrible - ”

Hank pulled him in for a warm, enveloping hug before the poor kid worked himself up to the point of vibrating out of his chassis.

“You shower me with gifts all damn month, hand me a treasure - _just last night_ , by the way - that I had no hope of _ever_ seeing again, and you order a troupe of half naked people to march right up to me and _fuck me_ in the middle of my work place,” Hank said, equal parts disbelieving as he was amused. He couldn’t keep the laughter out of his voice if he tried. If anyone were listening in on that sentence they’d probably think he was insane. “But the card is what you get shy about?”

When they pulled apart, Hank was able to see the slight frown of confusion on Connor’s face. “That is correct. I am uncertain of what you’re getting at here Hank…”

“Of course you are.” Hank ruffled his hair, slinging his arm over his shoulder and leading him out the door. “The card is a piece of art. I love it. I’mma put it in a frame and hang it up on the wall.”

Connor flushed a bright blue. “A-ah Hank! Don’t you think that’s a bit extreme…?”

“Nope. Imma use the fancy frame Nines got me. Put it by the fireplace.” Hank paused, then added with affected casualness; “Might wanna add Kellogg in there too. Don’t want him to feel left out.”

Connor froze in the middle of the sidewalk. He gasped, LED flashing blue and yellow, before settling on a bright blue. “Wh - Hank! Do you mean - ”

Hank started power walking towards the car, _nyooming_ down the walkway. “Huh! Can’t hear you? Gotta speak up I’ve got crusty old ears.”

“I am trying to - Hank? Hank! Do you truly mean I can keep Kellogg - stop walking faster!”

* * *

##  _🎵…Twelve words on a card🎵_

##  _🎵 Eleven albums of Cole🎵_

##  _🎵 Ten Gears tickets for the finals 🎵_

##  _🎵 Nine…hundred balloons 🎵_

##  _🎵 Eight Mc Combo meals in apology🎵_

##  _🎵 Seven fancy_feet.exe dinners 🎵_

##  _🎵 Six of Kamski’s debut albums🎵_

##  _🎵 FIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIVVVVVEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE. OF GAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAVINSSS EXES!!!!🎵_

##  _🎵 Four bastard gooses🎵_

##  _🎵 Three butt ugly ass outfits🎵_

##  _🎵 Two free coupons for the death of my worst enemies🎵_

##  _🎵 And a quacking tiger stolen from the evidence locker🎵_

_  
**………..That Connor got to keeeeeep~** _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For more updates, fic shorts, headcanons, asks, and other nonsense check out my tumblr at: https://emiliaf25.tumblr.com/

**Author's Note:**

> For more updates, fic shorts, headcanons, asks, and other nonsense check out my tumblr at: https://emiliaf25.tumblr.com/


End file.
